Feral
by Sardonic Kender Smile
Summary: The thought chills him. He shakes. His vision blurs and then suddenly sharpens, far beyond the precision it was capable of before. His sense of smell intensifies also, muddling his mind with the scent of MEAT…"Muarim!" the boy screams.


Wrote this for an fe_contest at Livejournal last year...it was the "Terror" contest, if I remember correctly. I got a little experimental with this, just warning you ahead of time (I read _over 3,000 pages_ of Stephen King the season I wrote this...if that tells you anything). But I hope the effect comes through!

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><p><strong>Feral<strong>

He is _furious_. He shakes.

There is a young man in his face, with red hair that flames like his blood in his veins and the boy's lips are moving, shouting something—

"Muarim! Muarim!"

His name. His name. The tiger comes to his senses in his human form, immediately recognizing the features of the young man in front of him.

"Tormod," he says with relief. The little one's eyes are worried. He doesn't know why. Is it because he took so long in recognizing him? Because, as he suddenly realizes, he is on the ground, on his hands and knees?

"Muarim, what's going on?" Tormod asks him.

The tiger thinks. There was the man—Izuka, the greasy-haired old one, the one who had proposed poisoning the water of their enemies to weaken them…and would have done so, were it not for Micaiah. Izuka had been standing near his drink, and left the room in a hurry. And not long after, Muarim felt so _angry_…but why?

The thought chills him. He shakes. His vision blurs and then suddenly sharpens, far beyond the precision it was capable of before. His sense of smell intensifies also, muddling his mind with the scent of _meat_…

Transformation; he can feel it happening. There is a red-headed boy in front of him oh gods reeks of _meat_ delicious MEAT and the boy is grabbing his face now how DARE he the boy is shouting and it hurts his ears and he is ANGRY and he roars ANGRY—

"Muarim!" the boy screams.

Muarim what does that mean the name is foreign he does not understand it the boy makes him ANGRY the MEAT BOY makes him ANGRY he will ROAR he is so mighty muscles bulging until they strain the skin he shall use these muscles to slash the boy to pieces of MEAT—

Hands tighten on his furry cheeks. "Maurim! _Muarim!_ What are you doing?"

His name. His name. The tiger feels his fury evaporate, but still can't recognize the boy's face. It comes soon enough:

"Little one!"

Then Muarim realizes that he is trembling. He shakes. Something is wrong. Something is _wrong_. And suddenly he knows, knows all too well, and Tormod is still far, _far_ too close-!

"Little one, get away!" he pleads. His voice cracks into a yowl. The little one does not move. His yowl continues, lengthening, deepening, until suddenly it is another roar. He struggles for control. It flees from him.

Hands on his face again grabbing him HOW DARE HE hands MEAT hands HANDS ON HIS FACE so ANGRY so ROAR must claw him REND HIM feast upon his MEAT and BITE HIS FACE AND CRACK HIS SKULL IRRITATING BOY WEAK LITTLE ONE

Little one

"Little one!" Muarim gasps, but Tormod will not budge. There is hysterical fear in the young man's eyes, but a deeper and more hysterical determination lies beneath that.

"Muarim, no! No, you can't go feral! I'll die before I let you!"

Oh little one he doesn't want to kill him HANDS ON HIS FACE can't make words MEAT HANDS but GODS THE SMELL he has to try WEAK BOY IN HIS WAY and forces open his CRUSH HIS SKULL AND LAP HIS BLOOD mouth

"Little…one…I can't-!"

"Muarim!" Tormod screams.

He shakes. He raises a massive paw, shining claws springing from the pads—

WEAK MEAT BOY HANDS FACE MEAT BOY ANGRY ROAR MEAT ANGRY CRACK LAP SKULL ANGRY HANDS MEAT BLOOD—

A single note pierces through his ears and into his brain, numbing him like a poison dart. He slumps onto the ground as the note gradually wavers into a song, easing his furiously itching limbs, driving out the demons inside of him, and he feels himself curl up like a helpless kitten.

"Rafael," Tormod says, the little one says, and tears are thick in his voice. Muarim feels his head being lifted and set into a warm lap. Hands are stroking through the fur behind his ears. "Muarim, it's okay now. It's okay."

No, the tiger thinks, and recoils from the young man he has almost murdered. It will never be okay.

He shakes and he shakes and he shakes.


End file.
